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D,j,i,i.aL, Google
Memorial Library
William BouLTON Dixon 1915
I'TLT. 151 ?T BRIGADE r.A.
KILLED IN ACTION
NEARTHIAUCOURT FRANCE
OCTOBER ITT^ 1918
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D,j,i,i.aL, Google
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
AFTERNOONS OF APRIL
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AFTERNOONS OF APRIL
A Book of Verse
BY
GRACE HAZARD CONKLING
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
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conruoBT, igis, it obacb buaui
PMMti OtUittr n
Digitized by Google
TO MY FATHER
Christopher Grant Hazard, D.D.
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
"Sf now, in the tnd, if this tie least be g§»J,
If any dud be dene, ^ any fire
Burn in tbt imperfeci page, tie praise be tUsii.'
1L.I~S.
4 .<i<f^
^^
488696
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CONTENTS
Proserpina and the Sea^Nymphs
The Barberry Bush
Symphony of a Mexican Garden
I. The Garden .
II. The Pool .
III. The Birds
IV. To the Moon .
Three Poems for R. P. C. .
With a Little French Flower
To R. p. C. with a Baton
Violin^Magic (to R. P. C.)
The White Peak {El Penon Blanco)
To a Scarlet Tanager .
The Ship
On Arranging a Bowl of Violets
To an Orchid ....
Old Nurnberg ....
A Beethoven Andante .
To A Newborn Baby Girl {L. H.
Three Rhymes {to an Air from Mozart)
[vii]
.C).
3
9
«3
13
l6
'7
■9
27
28
3°
32
33
34
37
38
40
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CONTENTS
To THE Lady in the Checkered Dress (a Pic-
ture by Hilda Belcher) 41
The Little Town {written in Germany) ... 43
Allegretto Cafriccioso 44
Ave Venezia 46
The Lagoon at Night (Fenice) .... 47
To Laurence Binyon (after bearing his Lectures on
Oriental Art) . 48
Song of the Veery Thrush 49
To Hermes (in the Museum) 50
A Breath of Mint 52
Message Deciphered on an Ancient Viola
d'Amore 54
To Stevenson {of some Critics) 56
Andante con Moto 57
Motoring at Night 58
To the Mexican Nightingale {El Clarin) . . 59
"I will not give thee all my heart" . 61
To the Donor of Certain Apples ... 62
In a Music'Room {to M. S. B.) . . . , 63
Rheims Cathedral — 1914 66
The Chimes of Termonde 67
Twelve Little Lyrics .69
1. The Wind's Way 69
2. The Wish 69
[ viii ]
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CONTENTS
3. Cake and Wine . . , ' . .70
4. A Sunset Moment 70
5. In an Old French Garden ... 71
6. Evening Song 71
7. "Adiosy Amiga" 72
8. "Brown Veeiy" 73
9. Magnolia Moons 73
10. The River 74
11. To the Wind 75
12. Nightingales 75
Poems for Elsa and Hilda 77
Faiiy Music: To Elsa and Hilda ... 79
To Elsa {On the Fly-Leafof"A Chiles
Garden of Verses ") 81
A Mexican LuUab/ 82
To Elsa {with a Volume of ^* the Arabian
Nights") 84
To My Baby Hilda {with Hawthorne's
" Wonder-Book ") 87
Envoy: To Elsa and Hilda: Las Tardes de
Abril 91
Non. Certain of th««e poemi )uv« been printed in migazioea, and ac*
knowledgninit of permbuoa to reprint ii made to the editors of the Atkntie
Mtntbly, the Ctntury Magaxint, Poilry: A Megaxini ef Verit (Chicago),
the Creftsman, the Internathtuil, the Indefendtnt, the Smart Sii, Evtrjbedj'i
Magaxint, Aiiultt's Magazint, Harper' i Magaxint, and Putnam^i Magazine.
Digitized by Google
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AFTERNOONS OF APRIL
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AFTERNOONS OF APRIL
PROSERPINA AND THE SEA-NYMPHS
PROSERPINA
I TIRE of these embroideries.
Now I have gilded all my stars
And plumed with light my ilcx'trees
And made the moon and sun, there is
The sea to finish. Only this
Eludes my eager hand and mars
The beauty of my tapestry.
WHich color of the changeful sea
Would she most love, my mother? Blue
Superbly shadowed like her hood,
Or blazing, like her peacock ? — hue
Ctf dawn or wine or purple silk
With foamy fringes white as milk ?
There is a gray/green much her mood
In early Spring. . . . Nay, I must go
And a^ the sea/nymphs. They will know.
[3]
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PROSERPINA AND THE SEA-NYMPHS
SEA/NYMPHS [singing)
Mother Ceres* daughter
Straying down the shore,
Brings with her a beauty
Never known befi}re.
(Who had heard, until she came,
Such a ripple of a name ?)
PROSERPINA
I hear them singing on the shore.
My little sisters of the sea !
Surely I can return before
The golden lonesome afternoon
Leans toward the dusk ?
I shall come soon
And weave a miracle for thee.
My mother, out of showered light
Upon great waters : and to-night
Give thee my tapestry oj dreams.
And sing thee what the sisters sing,
. . . Too bright the sea ! Unreal it a
And 90 aloof, I hardly know,
With all its glory changing so,
How I dare try embroidering —
Oh, they are there, all wet and cool
From out the foam, and beautiful I
[4]
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PROSERPINA AND THE SEA-NYMPHS
SEA'NYMPHS [singing)
Is there any flower
Delicate as she ?
Only tender'breathing
~ Sea/anemone.
(Maidens, was there ever heard
Such a little limpid word ?)
PROSERPINA
Laugh, laugh again, for I so bve
Your glittering laughter in the sun,
like sudden wave/crests ^shioned of
Bubbles and rainbows ! Did you say
Nc^Kxly knew you came away f
Then I am not the only one
Truant along these yellow sands !
(How soft your little starfish hands [)
Now ttll me, darlings, is it true
You travel fer within the sea.
And drive the dolphins two and two ?
And are there islands rooted deep.
That you must scale like mountains steep,
To find out what their names may be ?
(/ made an island, once, a shore
Dazzled with surf.) . . . Oh, tell me more!
[5]
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PROSERPINA AND THE SEA-NYMPHS
SEA/NYMPHS {singing)
Fair the clustered islands.
Deep the coxsX wcUs !
You who bring us flowers,
Do you like our sheik F
These, all jeweled, only grow
On an island that we know.
Who has felt its beauty
Cannot go away.
It is like a crystal
Iriscd in bright spray. . . ,
There is untold mystery
In the islands of the sea I
One is all a garden,
One has sands of gold.
One is built of silver :
One is very old,
Made of coral, and most £ur.
One conceals the Gorgons' lair.
Shells of many islands
Blossoming from feam,
See, they make a necklace I
WiD you wear it home ?
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PROSERPINA AND THE SEA-NYMPHS
Asphodels are sweet, but ours
Are the everlasting flowers.
PROSERPINA
And I shall keep them evermore I
But in the April/cobrcd mead
Beyond the crescent of the shorn.
There are such lilies ! Let me get
Enough of them, with violet
And hyacinth as I may need, '
To make you each a coronal !
You wiU not have to wait at all.
They are so many and so sweet !
Throw me your Uttle dripping kiss !
Look, there are wings upon my feet,
Wait fiar me ! . . .
{Alone) (Now, you asphodels
Rose^lined and petaled Hke sea/shells,
Could any fete be strange zs this —
The nymphs' green tresses to confine, '
And plunge full fathom^deep in brine ?)
2 never thought to make them say
The wisest color for my sea !
Corn'flower blue it was to'day,
And veined with topaz. ... If I go
[ 7]
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PROSERPINA AND THE SEA-NYMPHS
Much £uther, now the sun is low.
The sisters will not wait for me,
But April only once a year
Comes true. . . . What loveliness is here —
These unknown flowers waxen/white
That glimmer in a starry crowd
A'shiver with their own delight ?
Mother must tell me. . . . Are they real i
Whent^ the sharp terror that I feel 1
Dread Darkness — art tbou god or cloud
Enfolding me ?
My mother, ob
Hear tbou, and make bim let me go!
SBA/NYMPHS {singing, far away)
Do you see her coming P
Did you hear her call }
There is sudden menace
In the sky, and all
The bright waters have gone gray.
Little friend, we dare not stay I
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THE BARBERRY BUSH
Threading the wood, if I might see
A hamadryad leave her tree.
Or Pan with dripping honeycomb
Luring a nymph away from home,
Eager to ask some friendly Jaun
What way Proserpina had gone.
Or catch an accent, pungent, wild.
Of garrulous Hermes, like a child
I grieved to miss them. Everjrthing
Was hushed : no creature cared to sing,
Nor memory of song sufficed :
The earth had grown unparadised.
But where a barberry in flower
Had tossed against the sun a shower
Of pendent bkxsoms, golden shapes
Clustered like small immortal grapes
Grown for a baby Bacchus, all
The air turned rich and musical
With honeyed little changing chimes
Only a bee makes when be climbs
A bell/^aped bloom, and being stout,
Shakes poUen^dust and music out.
[93
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THE BARBERRY BUSH
Whether the barbeny had made
A compaa with the winds, a£^d
To lose her sweets if wind should blow.
Or what she oflered, can I know i
But all her essence hovered there
Diffused in aromatic air
That glinered like a living wine :
Her soul exhaled, besieging mine
With beauty, making me at home
Within the windless delicate dome
Of vaulted fragrance over her :
Some poignancy of mint or myrrh,
Rosemary/whim, lavender/lure,
Or balm of bruised balsam pure,
Some whiff of fern, fennel or rae.
Tang of the wild grass steeped in dew.
Had Hermes flung her from mid'flight
As benison fer his delight F
Fot incense^strange and Gpiced was sh^
A pensioner of Araby,
Dreaming her dream of winged feet
And cloud'Iost laughter bittersweet.
Yet not for Hermes did each urn
Of hidden honey yield in turn
Its amber to the pilgrim bees !
[ .0 ]
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, THE BARBERRY BUSH
Their god is Pan, the god of trees,
Who pipes for them all blossom'-news,
And knows what melody to use
Fw ripe wild'grape and applctree.
And you in bloom, O Barberry !
Was that your motif that I heard
His veery sing, in which recurred
Honey and spices, grape'bloom mist,
Young leaves in evening amethyst,
With ringing of thin topaz bells
Like small close/clustered asphodels i
So sang Pan's veery, so sang he.
That all the world was Thessaly,
And any cedar might avail
To hold an answering nightingale.
The mosses by the oakm^ee's root
Caressed a gleaming naked foot.
But quick as light the njmiph was gone.
I glimpsed the brown pursuing &ua
And heard the chiming of their glee.
Proserpina eluded me.
But from your blossoms showered down,
I guessed the color of her gown —
What else but color of the sun f
And singing veery there was none
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
THE BARBERRY BUSH
Until into my mood 3rou fkiwered*
niumining the wood unbowered.
Now kindly Fan £)FevermoFe
Be mindiiil of you ! May he store
Your honey in Arcadian jars,
Summon back Hermes from the stars
Into your zone of spicy zest —
A little Orient in the West !
Jeweled with bees, gilded with bkwm.
You shall hold court within your room
If once he pipe beside the door,
The Master ImpFOvisat(»' I
Thither may he resort, content
To find you richly redolent,
And make jrou music all your own.
So river/sweet in reedy tone.
It shall inspire at evening hush
His brown immortal veery/thrush.
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SYMPHONY OF A MEXICAN GARDEN
L THE GARDEN.
II. THE POOL.
lU. THE BIRDS.
IV, TO THE MOON.
A» iMtmata In A major
"The IkTing dde of iiiwticnlMe air"
Vhnaci in A major
"The irii people dance"
JlUgrtm in A minor
« Cod-hcuted dim &miliu of the dorci "
Fnrta in F mijor
« I keep a frequent tiytt"
PrtM mtna aiiai in D major
"The bloHam-powdetcd oiuge^tice'*
Mltgrt cam brio in A m*jor
"Moon that (hone on Babylon"
PtaiultMUtt
TO MOZART
IFial jiuiftrt art tbtu, inlaid
With fiamt af tb* famtgranatt trtt t
Tbtgod tfgardtni m»jt btrvt wuutt
This itill Mnr*m»rMd plan far tbti
To rattfram iniMarlalitf
And driam tuitbtn tbt if Undid ibadt
Samt mart tlmiivt tjmphoi^
Than aribtstra bai tvtrfUgtd.
THE GARDEN
The laving tide of inaiticulate air
Breaks here in flowers as the sea in foam,
But with no satin lisp of filing wave ;
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SYMPHONY OF A MEXICAN GARDEN
The odor''Iaden winds are very still.
An imimagined music here exhales
In upcurled petal, dreamy bud half/furled,
And variations of thin vivid leaf:
Symphonic beau^ that some god forgot.
If ferm could waken into lyric sound.
This flock of irises like poising birds
Woukl feel song at their slender feathered throats,
And pour into a graywinged aria
Their wrinkled silver iinger/marked with pearl.
That iiight of ivory roses high along
The airy azure of the larkspur spires
Would be a fugue to puzzle nightingales
With too^vasive rapture, phrase on phrase.
Where the hibiscus flares would cymbals clash,
And the black cypress like a deep bassoon
Would hum a clouded amber melody.
But all across the trudging ra^ed chords
That are the tangled grasses in the heat,
The mariposa lilies fluttering
Like trills upon some archangelic flute,
The roses and carnations and divine
Small violets that voice the vanished god,
There is a lure of passion/poignant tone
Not flower 'of'pomegranate (that finds the heart
[H]
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THE GARDEN
As stubborn oboes do) can breathe in air,
Nor poppies, nor keen lime, nor orangcbloom.
What zone of wonder in the ardent dusk
Of trees that yearn and cannot understand.
Vibrates as to the goklen shepherd horn
That stirs some great adagio with its cry
And will not let it rest f
O tender trees.
Your orchid, like a shepherdess of dreams,
Calls home her whitest dream from following
Elusive laughter of the unmindfiil god !
The iris people dance
Like any nimble faun :
To rhjrthmic radiance
They foot it in the dawn.
They dance and have no need
Of crystal 'dripping flute
Or chuckling riverTced ;
Their music hovers mute.
The dawn'lights flutter by
All noiseless, but they know!
Such children of the sky
Can hear the darkness go.
[ ^5]
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SYMPHONY OF A MEXICAN GARDEN
But does the morning play
Whatever they demand.
Or amber 'barred bourre
Or silver saraband f
THE POOL
Cool'hearted dim ^miliar of the doves,
Thou coiled sweet water where they come to tcD
Their mellow legends and rehearse their loves,
As what in A[»il or in June befell
And thou must hear of, fiiend of Dryades
Who lean to see where flower should be set
To star the dusk of wreathed ivy braids,
They have not left thy trees,
Nor do tired huns thy crystal kiss forget.
Nor £)rest'n)rmphs astray from distant glades.
Thou feelest with delight their showery feet
Along thy mossy margin myrtle/starred.
And thine the heart of wildness quick to beat
At imprint of shy hoof upon thy sward :
Yet who could know thee wild who art so cool.
So heavenly/minded, templed in thy grove
Of plumy cedar, larch and juniper i
O strange ecstatic Pool,
[ i6]
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THE BIRDS
What unknown country an thou dreaming o£
Or temple than this garden lovelier i
Who made thy sky the silver side of leaves,
And poised its orchid like a swan/white moon,
Whose disc of perfect pallor half deceives
The mirror of thy limpid green lagoon.
He loveth well thy ripple/feathered moods.
Thy whims at dusk, thy rainbow look at dawn I
Dream thou no more of vales Otympian :
Where pale Olympus broods.
There were no orchid white as moon or swan.
No sky of leaves, no garden/haunting Fan !
THE BIRDS
Prta»
I keep a fiequent tryst
With whirr and shower of wings :
Some inward melodist
Interpreting all things.
Appoints the place, the hours.
Dazzle and sense of flowers
Though not the least leaf stir.
May mean a tanager 1
How rich the silence is until he sings I
[ -7]
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SYMPHONY OF A MEXICAN GARDEN
The smokctrec's cloudy white
Has fire within its breast.
What winged mere delight
There hides as in a nest
And ^hions of its flame
Music without a name i
So might an opal sing,
If given thrilling wing.
And voice for lyric wildness unexpressed.
In grassy dimness thatched
With tangled growing things,
A troubadour rose^patched
With velvet'shadowed wings,
Seeks a sustaining fly.
Who else unseen goes by,
Qyick'pattering through the hush ?
Some twilight'footed thrush.
Or finch intent on small adventuringsf
I have no time for gloom,
For gloom what time have I f
The orange is in bloom;
Emerald parrots fly
Out of the cypress/dusk :
Morning is strange with musk:
[ -8]
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TO THE MOON
The wild canary now
Jewels the lemon'bough,
And mockingbirds laugh in the rose's room.
Prtitt mnt aaai — D major
The bbssom'powdcred orangMrec
For all her royal speechlessness,
Out of a heart of ecstasy
Is singing, singing, none the less I
Light as a springing fountain, she
Is spray above the wind/sleek turf:
Dream'daughter of the moon's white sea.
And sister to its showered surf!
IF. ht A majtr
TO THE MOON
AlUgrt ecH brio
Moon that shone on Babylon,
Searching out the gardens there.
Could you find a &irer one
Than this garden, anywhere?
Did Damascus at her best
Hide such beauty in her breast ?
When you flood with creamy light
Vines that net the somber pine,
[ ^9]
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SYMPHONY OF A MEXICAN GARDEN
Turn the shadowed iris white,
Summon cactus stars to shine.
Do you free in silvered air
Wistful spirits cveiywhere ?
Here they linger, there they pass,
And £x'get their native heaven I
Flit along the dewy grass
Rare Vittoria, Sappho, even I
And the hushed magnolia burns
Incense in her gleaming urns.
When the nightingale demands
Word with Keats who answers him,
Shakspeare listens, understands,
Mindful of the cherubim :
And the South Wind dreads to know
Mozart gone as seraphs go.
Moon of poets dead and gone.
Moon to gods of music dear.
Gardens they have looked upon.
Let them re^discover here :
Rest, and dream a little space
Of some heaH'Temembered place I
Digitized by Google
THREE POEMS FOR R. P. C.
WITH A LITTLE FRENCH FLOWER
(r» R. p. c.)
Go tell him, yellow giroflie,
I feund you on an April day,
Where the white Indre pours its slow
Still silver round a gray chateau.
From an old wall you leaned to see
The moat reflect your witchery.
Ere the sweet river turned again
To wander on ao'oss Touraine.
How the bees grumbled when I took
Their flower to press it in my book I
The honey they had &iled to get
Within your heart lies hidden yet,
As in my heart, unfbund, unsought.
The hidden honey of my thought :
The shy words that I dare not say^
Go tdH him, yellow giroflte I
["]
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TO R. P. C. WITH A BATON
This wand that tapers slenderly
From ebony to ivory,
Can call from brass and wood and strings
Beauty that is the soul of things.
With this diviningTod, among
Old woes and wonders long unsung
Thy hand shall grope, instina to feel
What springs of music to unseal.
For thee — as when a master nods —
Shall sigh again the ancient gods:
Returning o'er their starry track
Thy summoned heroes shall come back.
For thee shall sound the hardihood
Of Mime's hammer in the wood.
And clearly down its glades forlorn
The challenge of young Siegfried's horn :
Thy violins shall call and sing
Like birds in Siegmund's House of Spring,
Or cry the heartbreak and the stress
Of Tristan's tragic tenderness :
Thy gesmre shall bewitch the sky
With wild Valkyries streaming by:
Again dark Wotan with a word
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TO R. P. C. WITH A BATON
Shall splinter the new^welded sword,
Shall still the battle's dang and shock.
And ring with flame BrUnnhilde's rock ;
And when on sobbing muted horns
Gray prophecies c^the gray Norns
Foretell the coming twiHght doom.
Across the menace and the gloom
Thy wand of magic shall not foil
To fling the radiance of the Grail.
When gods and heroes understand
And answer to thy beckoning hand,
Can I — if thou shalt set the time —
Refuse to answer thee in rhjrme ;
Withhold the uncourageous song
My soul has sheltered overlong i
As though a hidden mountain spring—
Small dreaming inarticulate thing —
Enchanted broad awake, should hear
The ocean's diapason near,
And chime of iM-eakers on the sand
Thrill o'er the phantom hills inland,
(Nor recognize the organ'sound
Of the soft/thundering pines around,)
Then, musi&^tarded out of sleep,
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
TO R. P. C. WITH A BATON
Should fed its tiny pulses leap.
And up the sheer blue heights of air
Against the very sun should dare
lift its &ai\ pTMSc, and bid rejoice
Its thin and silver/dropping voice,
So shall that sealed and secret spring
That is my soul, find voice to sing,
By^ thy enchantment made aware
How the deep calls along the air.
Thy orchestra awake in the sun
At highest heave and &rthest nm
Shall fling me leagues on leagues away,
The magic of its poignant spray :
And I &r inland, on that breath
Shall taste Life bittersweet — and Death :
Shall send my song fluttering alone
Where the sea calls unto its own —
A sea/bird beating he from me
Home to the breakers, home to sea.
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VIOLIN-MAGIC
I HEARD you touch a &iry thing
That lured the trees to blossoming :
I saw them flush — and then you made
Their green leaves greener as you played.
You drew your bow so gently down
I dared not t»'eathe, lest breathing drown
The tender little crooning tone
That was a wood^ihrush all alone.
The tense string quivered, and I knew
Where grasses strange with morning dew
•Climb a far hill I love, that all
The drops they wore shone magical.
Brimmed with the dawn, nor lovelier
Than those your crystal me^ures were.
The deepest forest/dusk you found
With silver darts of moonlit sound
That pierced the trees' reluctant crowd
And made the dryads laugh aloud ;
I hear them now, and one I hear
Whose voice unearthlythin and clear
Bears trace as through the trees she slips
Of wildwood honey on her lips.
[>5 3
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VIOLIN-MAGIC
But when your enigmatic mood
Nor dawn niM* dusk of a deep wood
Nor dryad's laugh n<H- thrush'8 song
Nor April's blossoms would prolong,
And only wayward beauty calls
Along your argent inttrvals,
Then am I tranced with listening.
Lest my heart stir, or an)rthing
Within me question, and your soul
Withdraw from mine its dear control ;
Like him, Grail'sent, whom named of men
The white swan bore away again.
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THE WHITE PEAK
{El Ft*M Blamn)
It leans to hold the sunset
Against its savage breast.
Warmed by the last dull ragged red
Wind'blown along the west.
The dusk binds early stars
About its gaunt old head.
Reared where the winds of heaven go
Their way unshepherded.
One night I felt its heart beat
In rhythm sad and slow :
Was it the little calling bell
That trenJilcd far below ?
Was it the wolf that wandered
Unanswered, desolate.
Out of despair of loneliness
Chiding a silent mateF
God, how my heart remembers —
Heard on that barren height —
The bell that tolled, the wolf that cried.
The passionate wind of night 1
[27]
Digitized by Google
TO A SCARLET TANAGER
My Tanager, what crescent coast
Carving beyond what seas of air,
Invites your elfin commerce most ?
For I would &in inhabit there.
Is it a corner of Cathay
That I could reach by caravan.
Or do you traffic £ir away
Beyond the mountains of Japan 1
l£, where some iridescent isle
Wears like a rose its calm lagoon.
You plan to spend a little while,
An April or a fervid June,
Deign to direct my wanderings,
And I shall be the one who sees
Your scarlet pinnace fiirl its wings
And come to anchor in the trees.
Do you cdlect for merchandise
Ribbons of weed and jeweled shells,
And daz^ color/hungry eyes
With rainbows from the coral wells i
[29]
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TO A SCARLET TANAGER
But when your freight is asphodels,
You must be fresh from Enna's lawn I
Who bu3re. when such a merchant sells,
And in what market roofed with dawn ?
Much would it case my spirit, if
Tcday I might embark with you,
Low/drifring Hke the milkweed skifi^
Or voyaging against the blue.
To learn who speeds your ebon sails.
And what you do in Ispahan i
Do you convey to nightingales
Strange honeydew from Hindostan r
With you for master^mariner,
I yet might travel veiy fer :
Discover whence your cargoes were,
And whither tending, by a star :
Or what ineffable bazaar
You most frequent in Samarkand :
Or even where those harbors are
Keats found forlcnm, in &iry'land.
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THE SHIP
To'DAY my little Ship comes home.
And I will tell you what it brings :
Beyond the pale enchanted foam
I see its wings.
To/day my little Ship comes home.
It brings a seven-'petaled rose
That on the steps of Passtum grew :
Beauty that now no mortal knows
This wild rose knew.
It brings a seven^petaled rose.
It brings the reed a &un forgot
Because a dryad was so £iir.
(Now he is loved and needs it not,
He wiU not care.)
It tu'ings the reed a &un £>rgot.
It brings a little cedar ^tree
From white Olympus many/glenned:
(Of weary gods it used to be
The well'lovcd friend.)
It brings a little cedar 'tree.
[30]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
Age-ripened wine it brings, likewise :
Sharp honey from Hymettus' hill :
Clear turquoise twilights found 'neath skies
Sea'fringed and chill.
Ag&ripened wine it brings, likewise.
My laden Ship comes bounding home
To shaken throats of nightingales.
Salt cr3rstals from j^gean foam
Cling to its sails.
To/day my little Ship comes home.
Digitized by Google
ON ARRANGING A BOWL OF VIOLETS
I DIP my hands in April among your &ces tender,
woven of blue air and ecstasies of light I
Breathed words <^ the Earth''Mocher, although it is Novem/
ber,
You wing my soul with memories adcnrable and white.
1 hear you call each other :
" Ah, Sweet, do you remember
The garden that we haunted — its spaces of delight i
The sound of running wattr — the dajr's long lapse of
splendor,
The winds that begged our fragrance and loved us in the
night ? "
[30
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
TO AN ORCHID
MooN'HORNED oTchid in the oak.
Uttering thee, what spirit spoke ?
Thou who hearest patiently
Humble patois of the bee,
Hast thou anything to tell
Of the angel Israiel F
Who would murmur half aloud
Word of wind or star or cloud.
If thy beauty were a throat
FcH" his &r ethereal note ?
He by whom thou wert designed
Kin of cloud and star and wind?
Mystic flower, could'st thou say
If the little children play
Much with Mozart where he dreams
Daylong by the heavenly streams ?
Does he tire of asphodel f
And with Keats, oh, is it well ?
[33]
Digitized by Google
OLD NCRNBERG
You mellow minstrel ofa town,
So suave and weatber/warmed and brown,
So red and blue and unafittid
Of colors Titian might have made,
Carmine and cobalt scarce belong
In sturdy staves of German song,
Which as you sing, you dare bedeck
With cadenced tints of peacock's neck I
You make and sing, as you have done
Through centuries of shade and sun,
A naive music that beguiles.
Of porcelain spires and peach'bloom tiles.
And at your brownest you reveal
A message exquisitely real —
Dark topaz eaves of some old inn,
Or houscfront like a violin.
Was amber most your mood, when he.
The Master,' marked your minstrelsy.
Or did you dream in azure smoke
And hide your colors 'neath a cloak ?
' Richard Wigner.
[3*]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
OLD NURNBERG
Had your least tower been less &ir.
Less like a voice across the air,
Or any dome less gold and blue.
Would he have stayed for love of you ?
To him whom you enthralled so long.
You were the singer and the song:
Within your streets the tawny tone
Of ancient houses, most your own.
Was like an Aria he heard,
Bold rhythm mated to proud word,
And balcony or carven door
Struck chords he may have missed before.
Can you recall what undertones
Of mirth along your cobblestones
Allured him, or what &r^uag spells
From lanes of legendary bells ?
Somehow your beauty let him hear
Forgotten voices singing clear :
Somehow you made your meaning plain,
That Herr Hans Sachs might live again.
The Master long ago has gone,
But like his music, you sing on,
In colors clear and magical —
[35]
Digitized by Google
OLD NORNBERG
Emerald, coral, cardinaL
... I pray you, guard your antique grace.
The fountain in your market/place,
Your doves, your bells — and belfries too —
And that brown/amber smile of you I
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A BEETHOVEN ANDANTE
The wood wind warbled wisely
Of how the dusk begins
Before the glow of sunset
Had left the violins:
And a cool flute spoke purely.
As though some spirit &r,
Within the sunset's hollow
Had lit the evening star.
But when a simple oboe
Sang low and shepherd'sweet,
It was the awaittd summons
That made the dusk complete.
Oh, quietly it led us,
With crook of slender gold.
Across the starry pastures
Into the £irthest fold.
[37]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
TO A NEW-BORN BABY GIRL
(i. H.)
And did thy sapphire shallop slip
]ts moorings suddenly, to dip
Adown the clear, ethereal sea
From star to star, all silently?
What tenderness of archangels
In silver thrilling syllables
Pursued thee, or what dulcet hymn
Low'chanted by the cherubim?
And thou depaning must have heard
The holy Mary's ^rewell word,
Who with deep eyes and wistful smile
Remembered Earth a little while.
Now fiom the coasts of morning pale
Comes safe to port thy tiny sail.
Now have we seen by early sun.
Thy miracle of life begun.
All breathing and aware thou art,
With beauty templed in thy heart
To let thee recognize the thrill
Of wings along iax azure hill,
[38]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
TO A NEW-BORN BABY GIRL
And hear within the hollow sky
Thy friends the angels rushing by.
These shall recall that thou hast known
Their distant country as thine own.
To spare thee word of vales and streams,
And publish heaven through thy dreams.
The human accents of the breeze
Through swaying star'acquainted trees
Shall seem a voice heard earlier.
Her voice, the adoring sigh of her,
When thou amid rosy cherub/play
Didst hear her call thee, £ir away.
And dream in very Paradise
The worship of thy mother's eyes.
Digitized by Google
THREE RHYMES
(Ta an Air Jrem MtKort)
I
The &irest tree the year can show,
It is the tree of May time snow:
The plum, the cherry and the pear
With snow'Storms tangled in their hair!
The kindest brook that heart can wish,
Pours amber 'round its silver fish,
Runs not too deep, runs not too wild.
And follows like a friendly child.
The strangest of all Btiry spells
Is in the veery's waft of bells,
That leaves the soul in midmost air
To climb the twilight's twinkling stair.
[40]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
TO THE LADY IN THE CHECKERED DRESS
{A pieturt ijr HiUa BtUber)
Lady, may a lover guess
Why you destined for your dress
Ebony and ivory
Intermingled curiously f
Were you thinking of the moon
Spilling silver upon June,
And tlw velvet dark that hokis
Roses curtained in its folds ?
Had you seen at midmost night
I^le magnolia lamps alight P
In the feint sweet garden where
Lilies make a pool more feir,
Found them dimly shining yet,
Alabaster over jet ?
Did you dream, could you know
Snow and shadow upon snow
Thus would lend fentastic grace
To your subtlysmiling foce?
Could you know, did you guess
Such a daring rhythmic dress,
Gleaming here, darkening there,
[4. ]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
TO THE LADY IN THE CHECKERED DRESS
Would but render you more rare ?
Something whin^cal in you
Tells me that you surely knew :
Tells me that 3rou chose and planned
Whiteness that should maK;h your hand :
Squares of dusk to suit your hair
And the shadows prisoned there.
Made of mystery as )rou are.
And remote as any star.
There is still your charm that clings —
Little wayward human things
That allure, that beguile :
Mona Lisa so would smile !
Still be kind, nor love me less
That the challenge of your dress,
O Fastidious and Sweet,
Gives me courage at your feet 1
Digitized by Google
THE LITTLE TOWN
{WritUm M Gtrma»/)
LITTLE town of memories,
So brown and golden in the light,
Do you remember one who sees
You beckon, day and night?
There is a sweet French town that broods
Dove'gray upon a rounded hill,
Whose peopled streets were solitudes
To me, a wanderer still.
And in the South, a white town sleeps.
Carven of ivory it seems,
But a man's heart perversely keeps
Such beauty ibr his dreams.
The rosiest, coziest town I know
Is this above the rushing Rhine :
Here might he stay who could not go
Home to a town like mine.
They do not know you, little town,
Who say that all roads lead to Rome :
1 Ve tramped the broad world up and down,
And every road leads home.
[43]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
ALLEGRETTO CAPRICCIOSO
Beyond the river, lit by the low sun,
The green flame of the marshes dares the dusk.
And hems us in with thrilling emerald.
A redwingcd blackbird rides a rivcrieed
As though it were a galleon,
And he, bold mariner, after many day^
Of sailing perilous seas, were come to anchor
To leeward of some iridescent isle.
The tide 's at flood,
And shining npples run along the reeds.
Suddenly you discover
Where an inverted elvish lilyleaf
Wears horns and pointed beard : Pan or his satyr,
Who slides behind the boat and vanishes
With backward grimace.
Somewhere upon the rim of sunset
A veery builds a magical tower of tone,
Amber and golden.
That gleams, once heard.
And crumbles into starlight.
The hills grow dim : they are putting on their stars.
The little pomegranate clouds
[44]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
ALLEGRETTO CAPRICCIOSO
That ripened in the sky are all forgotten :
The hour passes.
But in my heart I know
One day a wind will blow softty from nowhere —
The immemorial wind of &ery —
And I shall hear a vcery preluding starlight
Down by the gilded river
Where the tide runs and chuckles in the reeds :
Instandy I shall see
The redwing flash above the emerald marsh.
The inverted lily masquerade as satyr :
Once more the little clouds
Pomegranatt'tinted,
Shall hang like wondrous finiit in highest heaven,
Ripe for archangels :
And I shall glimpse as now the gleam in your eyes,
Not bent upon me full — that were too human ! —
But peering sidewise like an ecsutic hun's.
Digitized by Google
AVE VENEZIA
The ocean is a garden
That folds you closety home
With larkspur 'blue from heaven.
And roses of bright foam.
The dawn upon your waters
Is like anemones.
Your noons are flaked with scarlet
As from pomegranatetrees.
The bubble towers that sunset
Dilates with rainbow light,
Dusk turns to shadowed silver
Like olive'trces at night.
O silver of dark olives,
Of cool night'shrouded seas.
That gives you rest finm ccdor.
And time for memories!
[46]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
THE LAGOON AT NIGHT
Immemorial lagoon.
Where the drifted dusk lies deep.
Do lost years with ghostly shoon
Steal across your sighing sleep ?
Is it wistfulness compels
Darkling waves to lilt aod gleam ?
Do the Campanile bells
Summon back an ancient dream ?
Are they wings that fan your tide ?
In the darkness can you see
All the angels almond-'eyed
Heaven lent to Italy P
All the feces meekly feir
Only Botticelli knew.
And serene in native air,
Lippo Lippi's angels, too ?
Night 'blue water, deep and dim.
When your ripples tremble, are
Raphael's little cherubim
Winging toward their distant star ?
[47]
Digitized by Google
TO LAURENCE BINYON
(A/itr btaring bit Ueturu em Orintal Art)
This song is yours, for wonder q£ a mountain
With filmy cone of immemorial snow,
And for the windings of a river/valley
Whose crags and mists your spirit seemed to know.
You delicately spoke, and fer trees murmured :
The waterfall stood whire against the wind :
I scarce could kII its wistfol shape of beauty
From that revealing beau^ of your mind.
In plum-tree blossom and in peaojck feather
You read the rune of immortality.
You gave a soul to tiger and to tempest,
And that dire dragon of the coiled sea.
By a lone lake where most the vrild fowl gather,
I thought you seemed to linger as at home.
Or have you known the lost shore's fairy margin
That Keats remembered for its fragile foam F
This h your song : for when my soul was empty.
You were strange beauty's unsuspected priest
To fill it, like a garden, fiUl of flowers —
Those flowers that are the angels of the East.
[48]
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SONG OF THE VEERY THRUSH
If through gray dusk there come to thee
From poplar 'Spirc or cedar'tree
A little agile melody
With winged feet, like Mercury,
O let thy spirit follow where
It ilits into the upper air !
For only so may mortals dare
Ascend the twilight's mystic stair.
The veery pondering alone
Devises magic c^ his own,
And wings with many a gleaming tone
His messengers divine, unknown.
... It is the moment I Now behold
The swift flight — ere the world turn cold !
Those notes like feathers of thin gokl
A-^hirl in spirals manifold —
O still thyself to hear them, ere
There be no singing anywhere.
Nor echoes even, for a stair
Of music up the serene air I
[49]
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TO HERMES
(A tbt Mtuium)
Hermes, your little lovely boy,
Adoring you with look and laugh,
Implores you to remember joy
You had of feathered £x)t and staiF:
How soon and gladly would you go,
If chubby fingers marble-'pale
Tugged with the warmth they used to know,
And soilness certain to prevail 1
If, when he wonders to behold
The exiled £tuns and centaurs sad.
Some memory of a coast of gold,
Or glimpse of Ithaca you had,
Or galley white against the sea,
Shall give your feet their wings again.
Will you not haste to set him fi-ee
From halls so cold and alien ?
Should gods who grieve to see you go
Lean wistfully to bid you stay,
Tell them your baby bc^ must know
The elder beauty even as they :
[50]
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TO HERMES
Must learn the lure of island foam,
And Etna's pbime of vapor pale,
And why these make him most at home -
Vineyard and sea and nightingale I
Digitized by Google
A BREATH OF MINT
What small leaf-'fingers veined with emerald light
Lay on my heart that touch of elfin might P
What spirals of sharp perfume do they fling,
To blur my page with swift remembering i
Borne in a country basket marketwaxd,
Their message is a music spirit-'heard,
A pebble-'hindcred lilt and gurgle and nm
Of tawny singing water in the sun.
Their coolness brings that ecstasy I knew
Down by the mint'fringed brook that wandered through
My mellow meadows set with lindcn/trees
Loud with the summer jargon of the bees.
Their magic has its way with me until
I see the storm's dark wing shadow the hill
As once I saw : and draw sharp breath again,
To leel their arrowy fi^grance pierce the rain.
[52]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
A BREATH OF MINT
O sudden urging sweetness in the air.
Exhaled, diilused about me everywhere.
Yours is the subtlest word the summer saith,
And vanished summers sigh upon your h'cath.
Digitized by Google
MESSAGE DECIPHERED ON AN ANCIENT VIOLA
D'AMORE
If you will listen when I ^ng,
You restless little Leaf of Spring,
Will close a while those ardent eyes,
And keep those hands from fluttering.
You shall detea the vain disguise
That music is for lovers' sighs,
And hear them breathe immortally
Through tones astray from Paradise.
Brim with the fluent gold of me,
My amber pouring melody.
As brooks with liquid sunlight do :
Your spirit's minstrel I would be !
Nay, let me be your sky of blue.
You whirling Almond Petal, you !
The wind that chases you shall know
T is Heaven he has k)st jnsu to I
What willing wind can ever blow
Your flowery fencies to and fro,
[54]
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ON AN ANCIENT VIOLA D'AMORE
As my least zephyr c^a phrase,
That urges and allures them so i
My Mistress, b, I am the praise
Of your most delicate wild ways,
For I am Love. Oh, hear me sing
The beauty of your nights and days I
Digitized by Google
TO STEVENSON
{Ofi»mt Crititl)
They scan the page all musical with perfect word and
phrase,
And frown to find you trivial who talk of primrose ways,
Nor £tthom your brave laughter, nor know the way you
trod,
O serious'hearted wanderer upon the hills of God I
There where you lie beneath the sky ^ in a lonely land.
You who were even glad to die, — care not who under/
stand
Your whimsical sweet strays of tune and your heroic
mirth —
Diviner of Arcadian wajrs throughout the dreary earth I
Digitized by Google
ANDANTE CON MOTO
Across the quiet air there flows a tide
Of homing pigeoos: soft
They settle on the carven cwrmces
And dip, and coo, and take the sun
That lies in shining ripples on their necl^
And gilds their breasts.
The old gray church has set
To front the west,
A dome of tremulous amber.
Full of light:
The belfiy frames a little colored cloud.
The strong sun, low and lower,
Grows reminiscent ere he vanishes.
Beyond the other towers
The evening star emerges luminous.
And the sky dims, recedes, and grows more vast
The pigeons are asleep.
The church is veiled
In lilmy dusk, and in the darkening city
Lights begin.
So tired I am : and how the night
Comes surely, softly!
It will be good to sleep.
[57]
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MOTOWNG AT NIGHT
When we had crossed the hills at last,
Smooth moth/gray valleys fluttered past:
Through gossamer mist aod silver dew
We followed stars where stare were few,
And down a hollow country ran
That wore the moon for talisman.
Here, locust blossoms were in spray.
And wild'grape fragrance barred the way
With sudden walls of vague delight :
We brushed them by, we pierced the night.
Into the secret hours we sped,
With green leaves pouring overhead
From steady, somber trees. We found
The dim aloof enchanted ground
Where iris flowers beneath the moon
Bind on wild Hermes' winged shoon:
And then, ere yet the spwll was gone,
We stopped, an hour before the dawn,
Under a dream'sequestered oak,
Hearkened our hearts, nco- moved nor spoke
Till like a bright wind running by,
Aurora flitted up the sky.
[58]
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TO THE MEXICAN NIGHTINGALE
(El Clarin)
Clarin, from what glens of air
Chime your camcccolored bells ?
When they ring, I know them rare,
Fluted like the lips of shells
For the tone to ripple down,
Honey/pale or amber 'brown.
When the tawny evening spills
Drops of topaz down the pine,
Light denied the dusking hills
Do you gather and confine
In some clear aerial jar,
On the branch where flits the star ?
Do you pour the liquid light
Early from your Ijrric urn ?
Nay, it was at midmost night
That I heard among the fern
Golden drops that fell in showers,
Shaken down as out of flowers I
[59]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
TO THE MEXICAN NIGHTINGALE
When the rain of light was gone,
Poured in rhyming gold like rain.
How your elfin bells at dawn
Delicately chimed again,
S(^ as sea-'shells murmur of
Her whose lovely name is Love !
Did the Foam'Bom brim those bells
With the wistfiil melodies
Of enchannd vocal shells f
Does the satin sigh of trees
Bring a memc^ of foam i
Clarin, do you sing of home P
Digitized by Google
"I WILL NOT GIVE THEE ALL MY HEART"
I WILL not give thee all my heart
For that I iie«l a place apart
To dream my dreams in, and I know
Few sheltered ways for dreams to go :
But when I shut the door upon
Some secret wonder — still, withdrawn —
Why dost thou love me even more,
And hold me closer than before F
When I of Love demand the least.
Thou biddest him to 6re and feast :
When I am hungry and would eat,
There is no bread, though crusts were sweet.
If I with manna may be fed.
Shall I go all uncomforted f
Nay I Howsoever dear thou art,
I will not give thee all my heart.
[6. ]
Digitized by Google
TO THE DONOR OF CERTAIN APPLES
May every day that makes the year
As luring to your eyes appear
And fragrant to your sense, as those
Your apples streaked with gold and rose :
like them in beau^ manifold.
Be curved and exquisite to hold,
All flavored with the wind and sun,
And brimmed with sweetness every one.
Could ordinary mortals know
The western orchard where they grow,
And watch the anist hours put on
New saflron and vermilion,
How master a more delicate art
For joy to ripen in the heart ?
Or who could covet after these.
Mere gold from the Hesperides?
[62]
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IN A MUSIC-ROOM
{Tb M. s. b.)
This rocMn of lucent shoal'sea green,
With windowradiancc poured between.
Is brimmed with reminiscent sound,
Like one the lost Endymion found,
When, wandering the ocean'ikwr.
He entered an enchanted door.
And heard the billows boom like bells
Above his head : and singing shells
In curious crystal monotone
Made him forget he was alone.
So I, within this lovely room,
Evade all wistfitlness and gloom.
Hearing the great piano sing
Sweet as Theocritus in Spring.
The pictures on the sea'green walls
To what etherial festivals
Allure the thought P Is it for this
The player feces Artemis,
Who frcxn her glancing golden frame
Bends whitely as a crescent flame
[63]
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IN A MUSIC-ROOM
To feel the wind of music bbw.
As once she felt it long ago i
And some immortal, lately gone,
Opened a window to the dawn
In yonder shimmering canvas, blue
And silver 'green and lit with dew,
A subtle lyric for the eyes
In rhythms of the wild sunrise I
. . . But here is moonlight for the soul
Of the sun'wearicd, where the whole
Broad ocean flashes bright and bare
Within a painter's magic square,
And through the splendor flutters pale
The wraith c^a receding sail.
And here, above the mjretic keys
Whose nocturnes rhyme with memories.
Content at quiet close of day.
Four Venice doves in blue and gray
Colored like dusk, divinely drowse.
Now in this temple of white vows
To Beauty, 1 would breathe my own,
For here no mc»tal iprays alone.
Once more, t6ou Polish Keats , a boon!
Snare me the music of the moon.
[64]
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IN A MUSIC-ROOM
Mozarty thy winged sandals on.
Show me the way to Helicon,
Dear Robert Schumann^ by thy grace
Detain shy Beauty in tins place.
And tbou, Beethoven, ob, invite
The gods to linger here to-night f
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RHEIMS CATHEDRAL— 1914
A WINGED death has smitten dumb thy bells,
And poured them molten from thy tragic towers :
Now are the windows dust that were thy flowers
Patterned like frost, petaled like asphodels.
Gone are the angels and the archangels,
The saints, the little lamb above thy door.
The shepherd Christ! They are not, any more,
Save in the soul where exiled beauty dwells.
But who has heard within thy vaulted gloom
That old divine insistence of the sea,
When music flows along the sculptured stone
In tides of prayer, for him thy windows bloom
Like ikithfril sunset, warm immortally!
Thy bells live on, and Heaven is in their tone !
[66]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
THE CHIMES OF TERMONDE
The groping spires have lost the s^
That reach from Termonde town:
There arc no bells to travel by,
The minster chimes are down.
It 's forth we must, alone, alone,
And try to find the way :
The bells that we have always known.
War broke their hearts to'day.
Ti/ey used to call the morning
Along the gilded street y
And then their rlymes were laughter.
And all their notes were sweet.
I heard them stumble down the air
Like seraphim betrayed:
God must have heard their broken prayer
That made my soul afraid.
The Termonde bells are gone, are gone.
And what is lefr to say }
It *s forth we must, by bitter dawn,
To try to find the way.
['7]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
THE CHIMES OF TERMONDE
They used to call the children
To go to sleep at night :
And then their songs were tender
Ana drowsy with delight.
The wind will look for them in vain
Within the empty tower.
We shall not hear them sing again
At dawn or twilight hour.
It 's forth we must, away, away,
And £ir from Termonde town,
But this is all I know tcday —
The chimes, the chimes are down!
7bey used to ring at evening
To help the people pray^
Who wander now bewildered^
And cannot find the way.
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TWELVE LITTLE LYRICS
THE WIND S WAY
A WHITE way is the wind's way,
The silver side o* the leaf:
Follow the wind, heart of mine,
Heart of grief 1
Wind of the dawn, wind of the dusk,
Wing6d wind of the day,
Who would follow the wind must go
The wind's way.
The eastern cloud had morning at its core:
The river stood in silver at my door:
The valley held a great wind like the sea.
That poured its surging rapture over me,
And flung me challenge through the singing pine,
"Who could dispel such wistfiilness as thine f
I 69 1
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TWELVE LITTLE LYRICS
What hath the dawn forgotten or deferred ? "
I said, "From him, my only bve, one word!"
3
CAKE AND WINE
She took a ^nch of pollen/dust,
A drop of moonlit dew,
And made the elf a magic cake
To help his vigil through:
And when die dawn crept up the s^,
With wine of clover pink
Spiced with heartsease, she brimmed a cup,
And gave it him to drink.
4
A SUNSET MOMENT
I SAW a cloud bloom in the west.
The color of a robin's breast.
And poppies in a cheerful crowd,
That caught the color of the cloud:
The garden walls so white before
Flushed to the red the poppies wore ;
[ 70]
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EVENING SONG
And when a wine^winged butterify -
Flake of the sunset — floated by,
Quite suddenly on every hand
There lay before me Fairyland.
IN AN OLD FRENCH GARDEN
Once more down alleys sweet and dim
Glimmers the Spring begun:
The merchild on the fountain-iim
Romps naked in the sun:
The marble I^ has poised his reed
As though in act to play,
Yet pipes no summons. Who would heed
Now you have gone away?
6
EVENING SONG
Little flakes of sunset
Blown about the sky,
Burn like trellised roses
Blooming heaven/high.
[71]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
TWELVE LITTLE LYRICS
You should have ooe for your hair,
And a star to pin it there,
If the wind were I !
Perilous your roscfece!
How shall I beware?
No gold so forbidden
As your shining hair !
Rose ofsuTtset, golden rose.
If you knew what my heart knows.
Would it make you care?
7
"ADIOS, AMIGO"
Farewell, comrade !
Follow the trail.
Does it avail
That I am sad ?
When the day dies,
Where will you be?
The stars shall see
Tears in my eyes.
[7»]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
MAGNOLIA MOONS
"BROWN VEERY
Brown veery by the river,
&own wood thrush in the pine.
Your golden harps a^quiver
Shall silence song of mine 1
Until my thought deliver
One phrase as frail and fine,
Sing, Minstrel by the river,
Sing, Poet in the pine !
9
MAGNOLIA MOONS
Last night the moon of April
Went sailing up the sky.
I crept into the garden
When nobody was by,
For it was long past bedtime
For children such as I.
The garden wasn't sleepy
Even so late at night:
t 73]
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TWELVE LITTLE LYRICS
The cactus/buds were open,
fitimfiil (tf silver light,
And all the great magnolia
Had flowered in globes of whiter
I saw they were moon/colored
And shiny, just the way
The big moon looked above mc:
And there t meant to stay.
But mother said magnolia moons
Would shine as bright next day.
THE RTVER
As I went down the cedar stair,
I saw the river pacing &ar
Between its tender tilted lawns.
And past a thousand sailing swans.
And I fergot strange talk of wars,
To see its ripples swarm with stars :
And all the thoughts that I could think
Were swans along the river/brink.
[74]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
NIGHTINGALES
TO THE WIND
You little lovely wind
With stany brow,
What gift have you in mind
To bring us now ?
You cross the lilactree
On stiver feet,
But it is memory
Makes you so sweet!
For such a wind as you
With stars above,
Led day/worn lovers to
Their night of love.
NIGHTINGALES
At sunset my brown nightingales
Hidden and hushed all day.
Ring vespers, while the color pales
And &des to twilight gray :
[ 75]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
TWELVE LITTLE LYRICS
The little mellow bells they ring,
The little flutes they play,
Are soft as though &r practising
The things they want to say.
It *s when the dark has floated down
To hide and guard and fold,
I know their throats, that look so browii.
Are really made of gold.
No music I have ever heard
Can call as sweet as they!
I wonder if it is a bird
That sings within the hidden tree.
Or some shy angel calling me
To follow fer away?
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POEMS FOR ELSA AND HILDA
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
FAIRY MUSIC
TO ELSA AND HILDA
O YOU shall play a seaweed harp,
And you, a beechnut violin,
Till your thin music silver^harp
Invites the vagrant fireflies in.
And you shall play a moonbeam flute.
And you, a muUcin^stalk bassoon.
Till all the crickets gather mute
To criticize beneath the moon.
And you shall play the shepherd horn
That calls white £incies home like sheep :
And you, the oboe all forlorn
That Oberon gave you to keep.
For you will both be feiries then.
And one shall sound a coil6d shell
To pilot &iry sailormen.
And one shall ring a crystal bell.
And you with yellow hair will need
A willow whistle cut at dawn :
[79]
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POEMS FOR ELSA AND HILDA
But you shall play a river^eed
like any little nut-brown &an.
And Syrinx will &rgct to flee.
And Pan, what mischi^ be had planned:
And she with you wiH dance while he
Pipes up the moon of Fairyland.
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{On tbt Fly-Uafof "A ailiTs Gardtm »f Vtrui ")
All on a day of gold and blue,
Hearken the children calling you !
All on a day of blue and gold,
Here for your baby hands to hold.
Flower and fruit and iairy bread
Under the breathing trees are spread.
Here are kind paths fcK* little feet :
Follow them, darling ! You shall meet
Past the enchanted garden/dow,
Friends by the hundred : maybe more !
Why do you linger ? Ah, you elf.
Must he come for you then himself f
He of the laughing bok and mUd,
Whimsical master, glorious child f
There you go now, away from me.
" Where arc you Elsa ? "
It is he !
" CcHne, we must hurry, I and you,
We Ve such a number of things to do :
Posies to gather, thrushes to hear.
People to wonder about, my dear !
Take my hand like a good girl. Yes,
I am the gardener, R. L. S."
[81 ]
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A MEXICAN LULLABY
Away across the yellow plain
The sleef^ sun before he goes
Has hung the shoulders of the hills
With velvet folds of gold and rose:
And in the garden of the sky
The petals of the stars uncurl
like flowers bloonung overhead :
It 's sleepy time, my brown'eycd girl !
The mules are safe in the corral :
The burros on the homeward road
Trudge patiently along and think
Of lajrtng down the heavy load :
And high upon the mountain'Side
The goat'herd's camp'fire, all ashine,
Tells that the goats have gone to bed.
Good/night, O blu&«yed maid of mine !
What if the big white stars come oat
And find the whole wo-ld sound asleep
Excepting just two little girls
Whose wilful eyes wide open keepp
[82]
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A MEXICAN LULLABY
And there are winged dreams that come
To flutter 'round your beds at night :
They never kiss wide-open eyes,
So cuddle down, and shut them tight I
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(Wilt a valume af " Tit Arabian Nighti ")
When first your dimpled foot shall press
The enchanted carpet, who can guess
To what unhallowed crescent coast
It may traasport you: to what host
Of turbaned aliens, clamraing.
Abandon you, or to what king?
A lure beyond the silken sea
Of amber light and ivory,
A porcelain tower, a gilded wall,
A low, monotonous bell to call
You inland from the smiling strand,
And, oh, it might be Samarkand I
But ^randering, a child alone.
Whose hand would comfort you, my own ?
You are so little, who would heed
To give you sweetened milk at need.
Honey, and dates, and let you taste
Pistachio'nut and almond^paste.
Citron and fig and magic myrrh,
And bathe you all in rose-Tvater,
And see you shod in sandalwood }
If only bells you understood,
[84]
DigitLZed by Google
what vMce would soothe your drowsy hour.
My jusounfiirled pomegranatcflowcr ?
When first that swift steed, raven^black,
Bears you to Bagdad on his back.
Nor keeps the ground, but soars in air
And prances gloriously there,
Will you forget me in your glee ?
For he has &d on sesame
Until he dares forbidden things:
And feeling you between his wings,
What if he fled beyond the sun
And stars with you, my golden one ?
Or seaward''swept at sunset, while
He heeds your laughter, some lone isle
Bound with great waves, may bid him rest
Upon its opalescent breast.
You could not see the darkening world
Within his ebon vans close'curled,
Or know their blackness &om the night:
But if impatient for the light,
He shook them free and sought the air
To meet the earliest dawning there.
Who would befriend a baby girl
Or find my island-prisoned pearl i
[85]
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POEMS FOR ELSA AND HILDA
Nay, wait a little while, my sweet,
Lest all too soon your questing feet,
Threading the palace, pause befere
The one desired, forbidden door :
The thieves that Ali Baba knew
Would leave the treasure, seeing you.
And lock you in their cave from me,
Deaf to my " Open sesame."
I fear the curious'voweled speech
Of those veiled women, and the reach
Of the dread caliph's arm. Oh, where
All is most beautifiil, beware [
And when Aladdin bends to hear
What you would whisper in his ear,
(For he the wondrous lamp must hold
That you may rub its tarnished gold,)
Smile, darling little sorceress you,
Ajid say: "Sir, if my wish come true,
Your jewcl'garden I would see.
And may my mother go with me?"
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TO MY BABY HILDA
{mib Haviitbanu'i " K^andtr-Bmk")
Within your eyes are memories
Of foom^'ringcd isles in azure seas,
Of dragou'guarded groves, and gold
That none but destined hands might hold.
You were a sprite of that wild world
Hercules challenged : you were curled
Within the enchanted bowl and kept
Watch for the hero when he slept,
Lulled to oblivion curiously
By pleasant clangor of the sea
Against the hollow gold. You saw
High-Lowering Atlas without awe.
And, perched upon the tilted rim
Of your odd craft, eluded him,
You were so little. And you came
To a white isle of unknown name,
Where hideous Gorgons laired together:
And found Medusa's shining feather,
And saw sUm Perseus from the air
Descend, and met Quicksilver there.
Adorable god! Oh, was it he
[87]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
POEMS FOR ELSA AND HILDA
Persuaded you to come to me,
And bound the winged sandals on
That bore you far from Helicon?
To'day you were remembering
Some glorious prenatal thing,
And I, who saw a snowy gleam
Like a great sail across your dream.
Heard music that I knew must be
Orpheus awake, till suddenly
The Argo swept with sheer surprise
That blue ^gean of your eyes,
And there were you, close felded in
The warmth of Jason's leopard'skin.
Showered with foam, shouting in glee
Till Jason laughed: and even she,
The goddess of the talking oak,
Smiled down at you and softly spoke,
"Child, happy child, and is it true
We sail to win the fleece Hx you ? "
So when your eyes more thoughtfully
Take on the color of the sea,
I feel your heart go hungering home
-Down the immortal wind and foam
To find again the friends you knew-^
[88]
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
TO MY BABY HILDA
Pandora and her wayward crew
Of fdayfellows, small Marigold.
The sisters weird and gray and old,
Europa on the snow-white bull.
The little lad who watched the pool
Till Pegasus appeared and flew
Sun'bright across the mirrored blue.
Will you recall — that I may guess —
The tint and breath and loveliness
That were Proserpina ? Again
Hear Ceres crying through the rain
To call her darling back, and run
To comfcHt her as you have done?
And since I would not have you miss
That wing^ life, remember this:
For you will Pegasus alight
la any garden, and the white
Small bloom Quicksilver cherished spring
To beauty at your summoning.
Stoop deftly down, my wonder'maid.
Secure that flower, and unafraid
Enter the seaward'looking room
That holds the song of Circe's loom:
Draw very near, that you may see
[89]
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POEMS FOR ELSA AND HILDA
Ulysses cross ber tapestry:
And should you be inwoven there,
Whisper the wanderer to beware.
But 1 shall watch the fountain chan^
Id the wide porch, upflinging strange
Frail crystal shapes that prophesy :
And should a brisk youth happen by
With cap most oddly fluttering.
And wilful sandal^sboon that spring
Into the air to make him laugh.
And careless cloak and twisted staff.
Shall I not say, befriending you
As any mother ought to do,
"Sir, will you bless her with your care
Who has the golden fleece &r hatrf
Give her the wing^ mind and wise
Who has the deep sea in her eyes?"
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TO ELSA AND HILDA
LAS TARDES DE ABRtL
Afternoons of April when the yuccas hold
Ivory pagodas jjeaked with dusty gold,
Will you find the garden with the Silver Tree ?
Will my garden love you as it once loved me ?
Busy with its mocking'birds and so*t South wind,
You shall find it loving, you shall know it kind:
You shall seek the shy god, searching everywhere
Afternoons of April when he hides him there !
May they leave you laughter as they flutter by,
Afternoons of April winging down the sky!
Drop you plumes of twilight ere the moon is white.
Loose the orange^odors for the dappled night !
Eyes as blue as heaven (O shy Rose'souled !),
Eyes of russet amber (my Heart of Gold !),
Only you shall love them, find them when you look -
Afternoons of April in your mother's book!
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CJUfBKIDGE . HASSACHUSBTTS
o . a . A
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D,j,i,i.aL, Google
L, Google
L, Google
"iilli
D,j,i,i.aL, Google
ote * i
JUN 1 9 1923
MAY 3 1926
3 1923
•V
3 1S26
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